Tagged: Erin Andrews

Simplistic campaigns to hunt down public enemies (like Kony 2012) are all the rage these days. When will you all be launching Selig 2012?

Brad Annapolis, MD ___________________________________

It is no secret that the authors of these pages hold no love for the staunch bureaucratic policies and seemingly never-ending reign of King Bud the Nosepicker. Indeed, we’ve ripped the man’s decisions in every which way and have even gone as far as to say that George W. Bush would make a perfect Commissioner in comparison (no joke here, we really do think Dubya would be perfect for the job). But to compare Bud Selig to the heartless, maniacal, baby-raping mass murderer Joseph Kony? Um… that’s a bit much.

But just a bit.

The good news is, people are getting educated on Kony’s crimes. And they’re doing something about it (unless *this* derails it). However, when it comes to the tyranny of King Bud, we already know about the bevy of shenanigans. There’s just nothing we can do about it.

If I may break from the usual ‘ol crotchety me for a moment, I would like to point out that, in my opinion, the overall state of our national pastime is as good now as it’s ever been. Seriously. If you turn your head from the silliness that is King Bud’s All-Star Game, and if make yourself forget about that whole Ryan Braun cheating thing, and pretend like the overall muscle bulge of the 90s and early aughts was caused by “supplements” that can easily be purchased at your local GNC, then you might conclude that, indeed, baseball’s vibe is very good right now.

The networks are fighting to get in on the expanded playoffs. Parity is slowly squeezing its way into all divisions. And the Pirates still suck!

More than that, people are still paying money to watch Adam Dunn play. Erin Andrews is still showing up in dugouts. And Tampa Bay seems to be in the playoff picture every year now, despite the fact that no one in Tampa Bay seems to care.

But most importantly of all, the St. Louis Cardinals are World Champs!

So for now, I can take a couple more years of bassackwards politickin’ from the usurping Milwaukee millionaire.

But I swear, Brad, if he reigns for more than two more years, you, me, Mr. Krause and the entire baseball universe are taking to the streets with Louisville Sluggers and Molotov cocktails (not to be confused with pet names for Kevin Millar).

Hate me. I don’t care. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

_ _ _

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Qaddafi has his green book, Mao had a red one and Jesus figures majorly in the good one. Tell me about the book of Mr. Lung.

Henry,

Frankfurt, KY____________________________________

What a coincidence, dear reader Henry! For just the other day I was telling my crestfallen and oft flustered colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, that the only surefire way to take over the world is to get a bunch of followers to trust in some cliche, universal proverbs with some fairy tales thrown in for fun. And hot dog if you didn’t just poke me to share!

First, allow me to correct you on the title. Mr. Lung is my pop’s name. This here lil book is called The Holy-Cow Canon of Jeff. It is presented in three parts, or books as you shall see.

The Book of Baseball

Respect. Not sayin’ you have to love the hell out of baseball like I do, but you gotta at least respect it. You must recognize the fact that those of us who worship the game and revere the diamond as our sanctuary tend to be wiser, more patient, and definitely more prone to bouts of combustible love rooted in our collective ability to cherish the good and to quickly forget all that is bad.

From The Book of Baseball, Chapter 28, Verse 5:

“Smith corks one into right, down the line! It may go . . . Go crazy, folks, go crazy!”

From The Book of Womenz, Chapter 43, Verse 12-14:“The girls is all jockin’ at the other end of the bar, havin’ drinks with some no-name chump, when they know that I’m the star. So I got up and strolled over to the other side of the cantina, I asked the guy ‘Why you so fly?’, he said ‘Funky Cold Medina’.” (via Deacon Loc)

The Book of the Golden Rule

Just like in modern day Christianity, you can skip the other books of this canon if you want and just focus on this last and most important one. It’s fairly simple and you heard it in kindergarten (maybe you haven’t learned it yet) but you’ve definitely heard it: Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.

Got it? Don’t want someone to beat you up and take your money? Then don’t beat people up and take their money. Don’t want strangers dictating to you what you should and shouldn’t believe? Then don’t dictate to strangers what they should and shouldn’t believe. Like living in peace without bombs being dropped on your house? Then live in peace and don’t friggin’ drop bombs on other people’s houses!!!

It’s really that easy!

There’s only one verse in this book, so let me repeat it, The Book of the Golden Rule, Chapter 1, Verse 1:

DO UNTO OTHERS AS YOU WOULD HAVE OTHERS DO UNTO YOU.

Thank you and good night.

Also, the above chapter and verse can be ignored when it comes to Chicago sCrUBS bashing, which is vehemently encouraged and allowed.

Hate me ‘cuz I’m makin’ moves, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

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by emailing kraulung@gmail.com or by commenting below.

And Opening Day is too important an event to just… swat away with the hopes of passing a message up the chain to get King Bud out of the commissioner’s office.

STOP THE INSANITY!

Look, I don’t like Bud Selig either. A simple skim over the thousand+ RSBS entries will yield a Bud-bash… or fifty. And I agree with Mr. Krause’s (and, obviously the public’s) perception of the man; but my friends, he’s going to retire in 2012. He is MOST DEFINITELY going to RETIRE in 2012.

We’ve put up with the shenanigans this long… another year or two won’t kill us.

Indeed, it will make us stronger.

And knowing that we baseball fanatics need our baseball, need our Opening Day pomp and circumstance, well, that just makes it that much more insane to consider giving it up. Trust me… I have personally experienced a similar dilemma:

While delusions of Erin Andrews’ golden locks and Kim Kardashian’s bangin’ booty may entertain most of my non-baseball related thoughts, the real me needs some real attention too. BUT, the dating world is a cruel, mean, awful and disgusting place. It whips you. It slaps you. It sticks your teeth on a curb and stomps on your head.

I know this.

But I need women… and if it means I gotta wade through muck to get at ’em, well, then that’s just the way it has to be. I can’t just BOYCOTT them. That would be… that would be…

DEATH.

The same goes for baseball and especially Opening Day. I already got the whole event planned, from sunrise to sunset. And Bud Selig ain’t gonna get in the way of that.

If the 13+ year friendship with my gloomy and oft perfunctory colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, has taught me anything, it has taught me that the pipe dreaming, star chasing default drive of my youth would be better served with a hard, double dose of good old fashioned realism.

Because despite my enthusiasm, the reality of the situation is this:

Erin Andrews isn’t going to sit on my lap. Lucy Liu isn’t going to give me a full body massage (with a whip). And Albert Pujols might not be a Cardinal forever.

I hate it.

I hate all of it.

I want what I want ‘cuz I’m human and needy and, from time to time, self-serving. I don’t want to be that way, but sometimes I just can’t help it.

And in times of realistic despair it’s best to take a step back and assess the situation:

What can I, Jeff, the Cardinals fan, do about any of this?

Nothing. I can do absolutely nothing. Sure, I can wait anxiously and dream and hope and yearn… but in the end, I can really do nothing that will have any affect on the outcome.

I can only control myself. No one else. That’s it.

And the most successful, most respected people I have come to know in this life all seem to have a pretty good grasp of that idea — that the only thing you can control is you yourself.

I know this: I was a Cardinal fan before Albert Pujols. And I’ll sure as hell be a Cardinal fan after Albert Pujols, whether his number is retired on the Busch Stadium wall or hanging high at Wrigley Field on a background of Cubbie blue pinstripes.*

So with that admittedly uncalled for bit of uberpessimism, I implore you, fellow Redbird crazies, join me… take a deep breath… and picture a hole at first base. Pretend the baseball gods are drunken a$$h0les and Chris Duncan somehow made it back to the ‘Lou… his Lurchian frame is manning first base. Every. DAY. Yeah. It’s true. Picture it… see it… cry about it for a while (I will)… but know that it won’t be the end of the world… we are the St. Louis Friggin’ Cardinals and our birds-on-the-bat laundry is worth more to me, to you, to the entire city of St. Louis, then one single person. That interlocking “S.T.L.” incorporates a lifetime of emotions. It has always been there for me. Like a good parent, or a best friend, it has never let me down, because it always shows up and it always gives its best.

And if the greatest player I’ve ever laid eyes on can’t be a part of that anymore… then, so be it.

Like any tough breakup, it will hurt like holy hell. And I mean really, really hurt. But… life will go on, time will numb the pain, and something better might even come along.

Jeff, Allen, Johanna and Second City’s Mark Piebenga knock off the winter rust and gear up for what looks like a fantastically competitive 2011 season. Besides being racy, risque and borderline offensive (or, just plain offensive), the topics of discussion include but are not limited to the best orange juice of all time, Michael Young’s precarious situation, Major League collisions and much, much more… all to make you happy face!

*Special thanks to our PodMaster Keith Carmack. You can experience Keith’s wicked podcast and subsequent film projects at Undercard Films. Keith is a hot topic right now! Not only is he filming that cool baseball doc, but now he’s got some commercial gigs from the Undercast, AND he’s investing in fleshlights! Pay him a visit!

No longer exclusively tethered to the stage, the screen or the page, there is no doubt that life is full of drama — the sort that you weren’t ready for, the kind you embrace, even the type that makes you ill.

Nonuniform in appearance and uninterested in who or what it affects, drama can be as simple as that anxious feeling you get right before a big presentation or as complex as the collective mood among you and your fellow drivers during your morning commute.

Drama is everywhere. It infects everything. We love it. We hate it. We need it.

Not convinced?

Take a look for yourself…

Ines Sainz and Her… AssetsWere members of the New York Jets out of line in their cat-calling towards Mexican reporter, Ines Sainz? Was Ms. Sainz perhaps inappropriately dressed for an NFL locker room? Is there more to this story that none of us knows about? Yes, yes, and yes? Probably… right? I dunno. Who cares? What is important is that a) we now know who Ines Sainz is and that she’s more than available via Google image search b) Jets fans have more to talk about than just how fat Rex Ryan is and c) I have another reason to post a B-side pic of someone not named Erin Andrews. Thank you, drama!

The AL East: Yankees – Rays ShowdownIf this most recent series is any indication of what sort of playoff bliss we may be in for, well, paint me blue and call me “cubbie” ‘cuz I’m all in. Heart attacks galore, dear readers! From Sabathia v. Price, to Brignac bombs to Grandy’s catch to Jeter’s thespian act, this has been the most impressive, most entertaining, most dramatic regular season series between any two teams all season long! And, as a fan, I could care less about either club! Now that’s what I call drama!

Teabagging with Christine O’DonnellIf Joe Biden were dead he’d be rolling over in his grave. Heck, lots of people wish Karl Rove was dead (he’s not) and he’s already rolling over in his… er… wait. What I mean is this: Republican/Tea Party senatorial candidate Christine O’Donnell from Delaware may seem like Sarah Palin 2.0, but that’s just because she’s good-looking, halfway likable and really dumb. Make no mistake: the Teabaggers are way more scary than their everyday conservative counterparts. Way more scary. For instance, O’Donnell once suggested to the MTV crowd that they refrain from masturbation. Uh… yeah. And judging from the fly hair and nails O’Donnell has in that circa 1996 video, I sure as hell hope she sees the irony in that. Anti-masturbation!?! Ha! Such a message EXPLODES with drama!!!

If you’re like me, dear readers, you like to eat, you like to sleep, you like to fantasize about Erin Andrews and Jenna Fischer co-hosting a pot luck dinner at my house (hey, how convenient that your fantasies are my fantasies!).

And being a Chicagoan, I am surrounded by plenty of good eats. Ann Sathers, Giordano’s, Gibson’s… just to name a few. Heck, you can even get good grub at the ballparks! I know, ‘cuz I wrote about it!

But what happens when you’re full of beer, full of hot dogs, full of pulled pork… and the game is… boring? Let’s face it, folks: this weekend’s Crosstown Rivalry has every potential of being boring (Cubs = Bad, Sox = Good). Well, my suggestion (via baby Blake below) is to just stuff your face with even more food!

And if that doesn’t work, go back to that Erin & Jenna fantasy… that oughta keep your spirits high!